


Collection II (2015 Summer Mini Challenge)

by KY Lowell (TachyonStar)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TachyonStar/pseuds/KY%20Lowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficbits involving everyone's favorite Ishgardians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ruby Red

**Author's Note:**

> 5 little FFXIV ficlets written for LuxKen27's summer fic challenge.
> 
> Finally done, woo. Enjoy, I suppose?

In the lantern-light, bloodied scalemail shines a brilliant red.

It is something Aymeric doubts he will soon get used to, as he traces his fingers along the stained breastplate and thinks on how this came to be. The fulfillment of a long-held wish, of a never-fading desire for revenge - and yet in the end, that wish rang hollow and empty, that revenge unsatisfying, leaving nothing but its indelible mark as a reward. It brings him a strange sort of sorrow, one he fails to understand; it was not his battle, not his _quest_ , and yet...

He supposes he may never understand it, but he despairs. _They_ despair.

Suddenly he is no longer able to stand the sight of that tainted symbol of pride, and his fingers hold a raw desperation as he begins plucking at buckles and latches; his actions elicit first surprise, but then a quiet understanding, and hands at the moment more skilled join his in casting the bloodstained armor aside. Between the two of them, every last bit is quickly removed, and it is only when he stills that Aymeric realizes he is panting, having been so fervent in his actions as to render himself breathless. How deplorable, he finds himself thinking - how unfitting, how _unsuitable_ \- why does he allow it to affect him so?

A hand cups his cheek, draws him closer, and he lets himself close his eyes and simply lean into the contact, the soothing warmth against him washing away some of the strange anguish. It is funny in its way, how easily just this one simple thing can put him in a clearer state of mind-- "Estinien...my apologies," he murmurs abruptly before he even knows he is going to speak, opening his eyes, looking upwards to meet a gaze that is concerned as expected. "I know not what came over me. Pray forgive me."

"You have nothing to apologize for." A simple statement, but so full of strength - the dragoon is not often one to waste words, and he does not deviate from that now. "Nor to ask forgiveness for. But I shall forgive you anyway, lest you become inconsolable."

Aymeric reddens with a brief surge of indignance, but he is glad for the flare of heat that erases still more of his melancholy. "Do you truly think I would?"

"Perhaps - perhaps not." Estinien shows teeth in a sharp grin, his thumb brushing gently over the patch of color on Aymeric's cheek. "Or perhaps I simply want to infuriate you, because I have ever so much fun making up for it."

A sharp sigh escapes him, underscored with a hint of a laugh, and Aymeric closes his eyes again, leaning into the touch. "I ought not be surprised at anything you do, and yet..."

Estinien barks a laugh of his own, and then he is moving, sweeping Aymeric up into his arms with a strength his lean form would never suggest. "Then allow me to surprise you more."

"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Embarrassment turns Aymeric's smile sardonic; he finds he cannot meet Estinien's eyes. "No, you would not _let_ me refuse..."

"How observant of you," Estinien responds drily, then silences him with a kiss.

Discarded armor, now forgotten, still gleams in the lantern-light, a chilling ruby red.


	2. Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long day in Ishgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yes, I totally think Aymeric, Estinien and Lucia have a threesome thing going on. Shup.
> 
> I'm rather fond of this one. The dynamic makes me smile.

A soft touch on Lucia's shoulder is what wakes her, when all the torches have burnt down low.

She is confused at first, threads of slumber clinging stubbornly to her consciousness, but she remembers as she raises her head from the desk. A hectic day driving back Dravanians, and a strategy discussion run overtime, had rendered everyone quite exhausted, and though she'd tried her hardest to push away sleep's persistent embrace, she had given in to the longing to sit down _just for a moment_ \- and that must be when it had happened, the pleasant fade smothering her senses in an abyss of sweet nothingness. Embarrassing, it is, even if not wholly unexpected, and her cheeks burn crimson even as she tries to fight it away.

She looks up now, sees it is Aymeric who has woken her, a gently amused smile on his face; she opens her mouth to apologize, but drowsiness still has enough of a grip on her that something a bit more honest at the moment comes out instead. "How long...was I asleep for?"

"A few hours at most," he answers her lightly, lifts his hand from her shoulder and pretends not to notice, for both their sakes, when her face briefly falls in disappointment. "I had not the heart to wake you at first - you looked so peaceful. Yet the night remaining us grows short, and I thought it best if you spent it in comfort." He offers her a hand out of the chair, presuming her a bit stiff and achy from her impromptu nap - a presumption quite accurate, but she allows herself only a brief irritated sigh as she rises, a sound that makes him smile fondly. "Should I merely have let you sleep on, then?"

"No - my thanks." She begins sharp, trying to pull up composure, but she fails; her voice fades to a soft almost-quaver, and she briefly feels a tingle of embarrassment up her spine, but it soon passes. She can allow herself a moment of weakness in front of him, can she not? "...My apologies, as well. I simply meant to rest my legs for a moment..." a weak gesture to the desk finishes her thought neatly without words, and she sighs again. "I allowed my exhaustion to get the better of me. Pray forgive me for my weakness."

"Weakness? Lucia--" He takes hold of her shoulders, looks her in the eye with a piercing gaze, surprised and worried and warm all at once. "We are _all_ exhausted...'tis not a weakness to admit it, or to ameliorate it. To be frank, were I in your place, I believe I may have done much the same." The corner of his mouth curves briefly, soft and chagrined, and she is hardly surprised that the simple little gesture can make her feel so much better. "Call it not weakness - but merely another step in today's strategy. Does that thought suit you better?"

She can't help herself; she closes her eyes, bows her head with an unexpected laugh that rises quickly in her. "Strategy, you say. Tell me then, Ser Aymeric - what sort of strategy have you for the _rest_ of the night?"

"One that involves a feather blanket and a warm bed," he responds blithely, releasing her shoulders to take hold of her arm instead, beginning to guide her from the room. "Do you think that a fine strategy?"

"It is missing something--" She can hardly believe her own forwardness, but when she looks up at him and sees the interest in his eyes, she finds it easier to go on. "I find it quite a _lonely_ strategy, to be frank. 'Twould be better to include a trusted ally in such, would it not?"

He pretends to consider, looking very serious indeed, though he loses the playful mask to a broad smile when it has the intended effect of bringing her to gales of laughter. "You may be right. Who would you suggest, then?"

"You must _ask_? Ser Aymeric, I am offended." But she is not; she is still laughing, and she curls her fingers tight round his when he releases her arm, takes hold of her hand instead. "Very well - I shall presume to apply your strategy to myself as well. I trust you have no complaints."

"Not a one," he reassures her as they step out into the chill Ishgardian night, drawing her closer to him as a gust of ferocious wind briefly takes her breath away. "Though perhaps Estinien may..."

She stops dead in her tracks, looks up at him in mock horror. "You meant to share your bed with a mere _dragoon_ and not with me, did you? Now I may truly _have_ to be offended."

It is his turn to laugh, the sound rising on wisps of breath-mist into the sky, towards the stars that grow ever fainter as the night's clock ticks away.


	3. Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though a prisoner, Aymeric doesn't want to lose control of the situation - even when he knows Zephirin holds the figurative reins to it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaah. Hahaha. Ha. Ah.
> 
> This was not meant to be as long as it is. It was also not meant to be quite as CRAZY as it is. It was ALSO supposed to involve magical chains and a lot more control on Zephirin's part. None of that happened, obviously.
> 
> I just wanted some Zephirin/Aymeric porn, shup. I ship them fiercely and I don't know why.
> 
> (This is supposed to be prompt 4. I'm writing out of order again. I don't care at this point.)

"It is a shame," Zephirin says with measured calm as magic rises, a cold shine that spreads itself over the doorway like a spiderweb to form a flawless, impenetrable seal. "Is it not? That matters should have come to this...and with you at their very heart. A shame, indeed...not only that, but _shameful_ , especially for one in your position. I am truly surprised at your actions."

A lie, Aymeric knows - but he aches badly from struggling, from the force used to subdue him, and quite frankly, he is not in any condition to contest Zephirin's words at the moment. It is hard enough to keep his head held high, to meet those arrogant eyes despite every fiber of his being desperate to look away, to hide away anything that could be construed as a sign of weakness. "Is that so," he murmurs, a soft apathy coloring his words, and despite everything, he manages to feel just a little pleased when his lack of reaction earns him the briefest hint of an irritated frown. "...Tell me, then. In my position, what would you have done?" A dangerous question, and he rues it the moment it falls from his lips, but--

By some stroke of luck, Zephirin does not anger at the words; he _smiles_ instead, a cold and particularly unpleasant expression, and folds his arms, beginning to pace slowly back and forth before Aymeric's cell. "What _would_ I have done, indeed..." but the way he trails off, scornful, proves it no agreement to the question. "I can hardly begin to _imagine_ such a situation. Yet the answer is obvious - I would not have involved myself in matters not of my concern. I would not have presumed myself so arrogant as to think I could hold sway, only to falter at the crucial moment. And I would _certainly_ not have involved myself so closely with an outsider." He pauses in midstep, turns an unreadable gaze on Aymeric, shaking his head distastefully. "Truly, I fail to understand you. A proud son of Ishgard, the _venerable_ leader of her Temple Knights, and yet you turn to some _adventurer_ to do what ought to be the job of our own warriors. I find myself quite curious - pray tell me why an interloper might intrigue you so, as to be given a duty not rightfully their own."

"Intrigue me?" Aymeric is caught off-guard by the words, the exclamation escaping him before he can even think to stop it, and he can feel any possible chance at getting some sort of advantage over Zephirin slipping rapidly away - it brings anger, and he draws on that fiercely. "I believe I quite mislike what you are insinuating. Talent, and nothing more...that is why I allow the Warrior of Light to walk alongside us. Surely you see the need for a warrior who has faced Primals and survived with nary a scratch to tell the tale - a warrior who, though not of Ishgard, poured heart and soul into the defense of her wards, so they yet remain strong against the Dravanians. 'Twould be sheer folly _not_ to accept such aid, as I expect you realize."

Zephirin laughs, an icy sound that sends nervous fear down Aymeric's spine, and turns to fully face him, raising a hand to press against the shimmering seal in a seemingly absent motion. "I will not deny that this precious adventurer of yours has _some_ talent," he agrees, but the predatory expression on his face says he has found a weakness he can exploit, a chink in the figurative armor Aymeric is so desperately trying to hold about himself. "Yet surely there must be some other reason you cling so helplessly to the assistance your Warrior provides? You, and everyone else..." Now his eyes narrow, his fingers curling slightly against the seal, a thread of tension evident in the set of his shoulders. "Your actions, your _foolish_ actions, have caused your _dear_ little adventurer to draw even the interest of His Eminence. Is this your plan, then - to put all of Ishgard in thrall to a stranger for whatever reason?"

Aymeric finds himself staring, only just holding back from an outright, open-mouthed gape, realization washing over him in an unpleasantly bitter wave. "You are _afraid_ ," he breathes, again without thinking, and the way Zephirin's shoulders jerk tells him he is exactly right. "Afraid that His Eminence will favor the Warrior over you...that you will simply be thrown aside. And you are jealous, that an adventurer could display such talent as to interest the very ruler of Ishgard..." It seems ludicrous, really, and he can hardly stop laughter from rising up in him, but forces it back with a great effort. "Now _I_ am surprised. Do you think so little of His Eminence that you would expect his favor to be so easily lost?"

Fury burns in Zephirin's eyes now; both hands are against the seal, curled into tight fists, and he is trembling, barely visible. "You are so _arrogant_ as to presume you _understand_ \--" he breaks off, lets out a sharp bark of a laugh that sounds nearly insane, uncurls his fingers to press palms flat against shimmering energy. "You understand nothing - not even when to hold your bastard tongue! But no matter; I suppose there is no better time to _teach_ you...!"

Despite the pain, Aymeric finds the strength to bring himself to his feet, to put up his hands placatingly and step farther back, away from the seal. If only the words existed to defuse this situation - but he knows he has gotten himself in far over his head now, and somewhat ironically, he agrees with Zephirin that it would have done far more good to stay silent. "Pray forgive my misunderstanding, then," he murmurs as a last-ditch effort, though he expects it will be about as helpful as throwing ceruleum into a flame. "It was never my intent to..."

"I do not want to hear a single word about your foolish _intent_!" Zephirin draws a hand back, then slams it forward against the seal; with a great rending shriek, it splinters away, and Aymeric hardly has time to register the sound before Zephirin is upon him, slamming him back against the wall with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs. "You do not even understand what you have _done_ \- you fool, you ignorant, presumptuous _fool_! Would that I could simply _destroy_ you right where you stand..." he takes a ragged breath, raises his head to stare into Aymeric's eyes, his own seeming to gleam with a strange sort of light. "If you...if _you_ did not exist..."

Frozen before this onslaught of rage and despair, Aymeric can say nothing; he only looks wide-eyed back at Zephirin, suddenly painfully and acutely aware of how _close_ the other knight is, of hot, angry breath against his lips - he should not be thinking this, he thinks wildly, but he feels like he has no idea which way is up any more, no idea what is even _happening_ , and the impenetrable tangle of emotion and comprehension leaves only the most primal, base instincts left to him...such as this one. "...If I did not exist," he manages, a bare gasp, dimly aware he has begun to tremble. "Then what...?"

Zephirin does not answer for a long moment, simply looking, _staring_ \- he seems almost spellbound, a strange, quiet contrast to his conflagration of fury, and little by little, his tight grasp on Aymeric begins to slacken. "...If you did not exist," he says finally, soft and somehow tired, the rage seemingly gone, though the odd light to his eyes does not fade. "That would be one less matter to trouble His Eminence. One less _effort_ to uphold secrecy and lies..."

Understanding stings Aymeric, but he cannot bring himself to be angry about it; instead, he feels only a strange, hollow sadness, one that compels him to lift a hand and touch Zephirin's face, feeling a stab of guilt when he instinctively flinches. "I..."

"Be _silent_ ," Zephirin snaps desperately, his eyes flickering to the side in nervous reaction when Aymeric's hand cups his cheek, tension threading into his posture again. "Do you _finally_ understand, then? The sheer magnitude of what you have wrought? You pitiful...ignorant...fool..."

Aymeric's throat feels tight, rendering him unable to answer; instead, he closes his eyes, brings his free arm up to wrap about Zephirin's back and sags against him, feeling suddenly exhausted. "We are both fools," he whispers finally, shaking his head, some part of his mind distantly amazed that he has not yet been pushed away. "Complete and utter fools."

"Who are you to call me a fool--" But Zephirin's voice trembles, and still he makes no effort to free himself from Aymeric's hold. "Have you even the slightest idea...how much I _loathe_ you...?"

"I do," Aymeric surprises himself by saying, the words heavy with guilty understanding, opening his eyes and looking up at Zephirin's face once more. "And I wish it were not so."

"What...?" Zephirin looks just as stunned as he sounds, his eyes wide with confusion and his shoulders briefly shaking; the longer he looks at Aymeric, the more unnerved he seems to become, his breathing picking up slightly and his lips parting with nervousness. "How...how can you _say_ such things...when you look at me with _his_ eyes..."

It is then that Aymeric fully understands, and in his shock, he can only let his instincts react for him; wrapping both arms about Zephirin and pressing against him, he tilts his head up, breathes words hot and desperate against the other knight's ear. "Then I offer you this...let these eyes not _pain_ you any longer - but let them offer you succor for a time."

Zephirin goes rigid in the tight embrace, shuddering once, and for a moment Aymeric is almost afraid he has been _too_ forward, a feeling not assuaged when response finally comes. "You must be mad - you know not what you offer me..."

"I know full well what I offer you," Aymeric counters insistently, still little more than soft exhalations against Zephirin's ear, eliciting another shudder from him at the sensation. "Call me mad if you must, but I do not intend to withdraw this offer."

"You--" Zephirin's voice is little more than a gasp, and he draws away as much as Aymeric's hold will let him, staring at him with a wild desperation. "How do you know - I will not destroy you?"

Aymeric shakes his head, pushes himself closer still. "I will take that risk," he answers simply.

With no ready answer, overwhelmed with confusion, Zephirin cannot reply - he can only fall back on the instinct to act, and he does, bringing his hands suddenly up to seize hold of Aymeric's face and claiming his mouth in a crushing, needy kiss.

Just like that, everything is undone.

In the heat of the moment, everything blurs together, and Aymeric is not sure when or _how_ exactly their garments come off; all he knows is the feel of bare, sweat-damp skin against his own, the heat of Zephirin's mouth at his neck as it works up a determined mark he rather fears he will not be able to entirely hide, and the insistent press of trembling, _wanting_ fingers at his lips - a sensation that both frightens and thrills him with the implications of it, and he is unsure which will win out for a moment, but the yearning ache inside of him spurs his decision and he draws the fingers in, curling his tongue round them with an eagerness that betrays his desperation. How is he supposed to wait, he thinks - when he is so helpless, so _empty_ , when he needs so much?

But then those damned wonderful fingers have left his mouth, and he cannot help a wild cry when they are abruptly _in_ him, twisting and curling and opening him till he nearly sobs from helpless want, till his whole body seems to beg in and of itself with shifts of hip and demanding shudders - and he is so delirious from it all that he hardly realizes sudden emptiness until he is then so _full_ it aches, the sounds that now escape him swallowed up by Zephirin's hungry kiss, a gesture he cannot help returning as he wraps his arms tight about the other knight's pale back and digs his nails heedlessly into warm skin. It is so hard to think now, to do anything but breathe and let the quick, harsh pace drive him slowly but surely out of whatever mind he still has remaining, but even so there is one thought. This is everything, everything he wanted, _needed_ , and somehow it even manages to still be _more_ \--

He will not last, he knows, and he cares not a whit.

It matters not, anyway. It is too frenzied an affair for control, for holding back, and it is not long at all after body-shaking release takes Aymeric that Zephirin follows him, burying himself helplessly into unbearably tight heat with a sharp snap of his hips and breathing curses as he shudders; there is a calm, then, perhaps the eye within the figurative storm, and as his coherency begins to creep back to him in fits and starts, Aymeric finds himself realizing that he does not want it to end. He should not _think_ these things, he understands, it is enough that he has allowed this to occur at all - no, that he has _orchestrated_ this occurrence - yet fool that he is, he can do naught but wish, and that brings a bitterness that he cannot seem to will away, a sharp, discordant note that only goes stronger when Zephirin whispers yet another curse and draws away from him, _out_ of him.

They have crossed a line, one they can never step back over, and he cannot make himself realize this for the damning sentence he knows it will be.

"...This will not happen again." Zephirin's voice, heavy with bitter guilt, pulls him from his reverie, and he opens tired eyes to see the other knight quickly and efficiently redressing himself, staring pointedly away at nothing in particular. "This should not have happened in the first place - I know not what you have _done_ to me, but if you think you can possibly do it _again_ \--" the briefest of glances over, and for just a moment, his eyes are perhaps just a bit too bright with unconcealed emotion. "...I intend to forget any of this ever occurred. You would do well to do the same."

The words are like bitter poison to Aymeric's ears, but he sees the wisdom in them, and though it pains him, he forces himself to bow his head in agreement. "My apologies, then," he says, bites back a million _other_ things he could possibly say and still one slips out unbidden. "I have only...caused you more pain, in the end."

Zephirin freezes at that, makes a tight fist and then forces it to loosen, slowly turning to face Aymeric as he drags himself upright enough to reach for his smallclothes. "You are a _fool_ ," he snaps, and there is a certain desperation in his words that makes their true meaning clear, speaking for him the thanks and the apologies his pride will not let him voice. "Truly - I would be quite hard-pressed to find one more foolish than you."

Despite himself, Aymeric cannot help but smile, but he hides it in the methodical movements which with he once more clothes himself, not meeting Zephirin's eyes again until he has schooled his expression into something more resembling seriousness. "I quite resent that remark, you know."

"Resent it all you want..." Zephirin heaves an exasperated sigh, shakes his head and turns away, quick, embarrassed strides carrying him from the cell. "...But I suppose that every once in a while, there may be...some sort of merit in pandering to a fool."

Aymeric does not hide his smile this time, even as the seal flickers back into being, even as Zephirin's footsteps quickly recede down the lengthy hall.

"I am a fool, indeed," he tells himself, the barest murmur, and settles in to await his fate.


	4. Lightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As wonderful as Aymeric can be when he's gentle with her, that's not what Lucia wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I have no excuses. I really don't. I just completely adore the thought of Lucia dominating Aymeric in the bedroom, hngh.
> 
> Yet another one that decided to find some semblance of plot and run away from me. Am I just incapable of writing a wee PWP for this fandom?

If there is one thing about Aymeric that Lucia finds less than perfect, it is his tendency to treat her like fragile glass when they are alone.

A daughter of Garlemald, raised for conflict, she thrives on war in her own way, and countless battles at his side have proven her worth to him time and time again; he is always quick to reassure her should her own confidence in her strength falter, and any who dare to suggest a woman knight is _weak_ in his hearing soon find themselves soundly chastised. Yet it is as if everything changes when they find privacy, when heavy armor and thoughts of battle are simply discarded - when lantern-light makes sweat gleam on skin and his hands are on her, so carefully, so lightly.

Perhaps, though she hates to admit it even to herself, _too_ lightly.

She finds it, however, rather difficult to voice any sort of complaint when even his softest touches drive her right out of her mind, when his mouth is hot at her breast and his damnably wonderful fingers between her legs are drawing the most _embarrassing_ of noises from her - to shape the words alone would take more coherency than she knows herself to have at that moment, and to give them full voice would be utterly impossible. (Fury only knows the only words she can manage to speak like this are _more_ and _please_ and _don't stop_ , and while they are perfectly serviceable words, they really don't help the situation--)

The thoughts are always soon gone to the pleasure he brings her, anyway, and by the time he has skillfully guided her to reality-shattering release, she can never remember what it was she wanted to say. So it simply goes unvoiced, left to be buried beneath the cloak of life and duty and priority, leaving her to think only _next time_ \- somehow she will find the mind for it, somehow she will manage to bring it up and then...

And then...what?

She can never quite bring her thoughts to that conclusion, somehow.

It bothers her excessively this day, but the more she tries to push the thoughts away, the more insistently they flood back and she finds herself angered by their mere presence, an anger she channels viciously into her every swordstroke as they methodically put down the aevis and wyverns that threaten the Gates of Judgment. It is messy work, leaving them spattered with dragon's blood and bits of feathers and viscera, but she finds the mess somehow encouraging, showing her that she has control over at least one thing in her life today - that there is _one_ place she can triumph, and perhaps surprisingly, that realization is what brings to her a sudden answer to the confusion that plagues her. How simple, she finds herself thinking, pushing down the sardonic laugh that rises in her; simple, but wherever shall she find the _courage_?

That one is easier to answer: do not think. Simply _do_. A technique she knows well.

So when night falls, when Ishgard slumbers beneath her snowy cloak and the lantern-light once more lends exertion-damp skin an ephemeral sheen, she does not think - she _does_. She captures Aymeric's hands as he reaches for her, pushes herself insistently against him and initiates a kiss hot and biting, drawing away only once the both of them have been rendered thoroughly breathless and having to smile at the look in his eyes - he is surprised, uncertain, but a smoldering heat burns beneath it all, exactly as she had hoped. "Please," she murmurs, and somehow surprises even herself with the throaty need-sound of her own voice; "let _me_ do all the work tonight. 'Tis only fair--"

Aymeric watches her almost nervously for a moment, wets his lips with a tiny flicker of tongue and then slowly smiles, bowing his head in acquiescence, his face suddenly wearing a look she can almost classify as strangely shy. "If that is what you wish..."

"I do," she agrees perhaps a little too eagerly, kissing him again, and this time he opens his mouth to hers in silent invitation.

It is not long at all before her coherency, her _voice_ is lost again, but she does not need it to tell him what she craves tonight. She speaks with her body instead, with the nimble fingers that trace his heated skin, with the blunt nails that graze their way down his sides and make him arch and shiver, with the teasing lips and teeth and tongue that rove down his body and feel the needy groans that resonate in his chest - _this is what I want_ , her every touch insists, and she is certain he will understand - he is an intelligent man, one quite used to reading between the lines and knowing the unspoken. _This is it. This is what I want you to do to me..._

Aymeric's breath catches as she wraps her fingers about his cock, strokes him slowly once with a curious gaze fixed firmly on his face. "Lucia," he manages, a broken gasp, and the mere sound of him so desperate sends a shiver down her spine she will never forget the feeling of. "Please, do not - _ah_ \- tease...me so..."

"Am I teasing you?" She arches an eyebrow, tries to look innocently puzzled, but she cannot keep it up for long, dissolving into brief laughter and pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to the side of his jaw, pleased when he manages a chuckle of his own. "I cannot help myself - you are so _exquisite_ like this. Have you never wanted to see _me_ thoroughly lost beneath you, as you are to me right now?"

His eyes widen; she imagines she can see the figurative gears beginning to turn behind them. "Perhaps," he says finally, breathless, breaking off into a hitching gasp when she releases him only to straddle his hips instead. "Every...so often... _but_..."

"But?" She prompts him gently, pushes her hips down against his, rubbing her wet folds along the length of him - it will only make it more difficult for him to answer, she knows, but she simply cannot help herself.

"But I--" He lets his breath out in a hiss, tries to seize her hips, but she captures his hands once more and pushes them back down to the bed. "I - I should be afraid...of breaking you--"

It strikes her as utterly inane, and she nearly laughs, but the realization that he is being purely genuine right now forces the mirth away. " _Breaking_ me? Truly, Ser Aymeric - do you think it possible that anything you could do would _break_ me?"

His head tosses to the side as she shifts her hips - she is unsure if it is an answer or simply a pleasured reaction, and she doesn't quite think he knows either. "I..."

"Let me show you otherwise," she interrupts him with a finger to his lips, raising herself off of him and reaching down, taking him into a firm grasp to guide him smoothly into her. "Just how fragile I absolutely am _not_."

He would perhaps answer, but that becomes an impossibility when she pushes onto him, takes him into her to the very hilt.

Conversation is completely lost then, gone to gasps of breath and desperate sounds as she digs her fingers into the bedsheets and rides him as harshly as she can bear, her head tossing back and primal sounds of pure pleasure falling from her lips with every move she makes. She has no doubt that she will ache tomorrow, perhaps even nurse some small twinge of regret for her actions tonight, but it is just too _satisfying_ to feel badly about at the moment - and it only becomes even more so when Aymeric, finally taken completely by the frenzy of need, seizes her hips and begins to match her every jarring movement with sharp thrusts of his own. _At last_ , drifts through her mind, and she is hardly aware her lips are moving, producing sharp bursts of breath that manage to turn themselves into the vaguest of sound. "Yes - just...like _that_ \--"

Aymeric _growls_ beneath her in response, a sound that carries hints of her name in its guttural tone, and lunges up from the bed suddenly, moving so fast she is hardly aware of it until his arm is tight about her shoulders and his mouth is on hers - kissing, biting, _claiming_.

She does break then. She shatters with release, and she could not be more complete for it.

He swallows her wild cry, matches it with one of his own and presses his nails into her back as he shudders against her, drawn over that figurative edge just as inexorably as she; time nearly seems frozen then, a quiet stillness that envelops them, but the moment is all too soon past and she follows him down as he sinks back to the sheets, pressing her head to his chest and panting harshly to catch her breath as she listens to his pounding heartbeat. Fury above, how utterly idiotic she feels now - not for what she's done, but for not simply doing it sooner, for not taking things into her own hands _before_ now--

"That was," she breathes out, swallows hard to wet a throat dry from delirious cries and absently finds his hand with hers, lacing their fingers together. "The best...thing I have ever felt...in my life."

Aymeric squeezes her hand gently, takes a moment to answer, still dizzy with bliss - but finally a breathy laugh resonates in his chest and he murmurs, a soothing sound that echoes in her ear. "Dare I ask...what has gotten...into you tonight?"

"Nothing of import," she responds flippantly, lifts her head enough to look him in the eye, though she is just exhausted enough now to make that noticeably difficult. "We _will_ do this again sometime...no arguments, I hope."

"None whatsoever..." He sounds just the slightest bit embarrassed, and he _may_ be blushing, but the flush of exertion on his cheeks makes it hard to tell. "Yet - by the same token, I rather hope...you have no arguments if we take it _slow_ at times as well?"

She lets out a soft laugh before she can help herself; she had nearly forgotten that was her entire reason for doing this in the first place. "Explain to me one thing first, Ser Aymeric. Why _is_ it that you find it necessary to be so gentle with me - besides the fear of breaking me?"

He tenses slightly beneath her, silent for long enough that she begins to wonder if she should regret asking, but finally - just as she is drawing breath to apologize - he answers, a whisper so soft she has to strain to hear it.

"How else can I love you...if all around us will not allow me to do it with words?"

A strange mix of emotion fills her, sharp and indescribable, and she startles herself with a breath that turns into a sob, reaching quickly up with embarrassed hands to wipe away the tears that are now beginning to trail down her cheeks. Of all the things she had expected to hear - but she cannot deny that even as surprised as she is, she feels a note of warmth glowing deep in her at the confession. She had never made a secret of her love for him, though admittedly she had never _tried_ , but to imagine it reciprocated... "Ser Aymeric," she manages, sobs again and wipes her cheeks more harshly, though it is fruitless. "I--"

He shakes his head, puts a finger up to her lips to silence her and smiles, a warm, reassuring expression that soothes her far more than any words could. "I know..."

"That - is beside the point..." She tries to look indignant; at least the effort helps her slow her tears, and the little flicker of pleased soreness that runs through her as she finally lifts herself off him helps quite a bit too. "Can I not tell you, even though you already know?"

"Is it necessary?" He draws the blankets up and wraps his arms about her as she settles next to him, her head nestling comfortably against his shoulder, the last few stray tears dampening his skin. "You already show it to me in everything you do for me, Lucia. There is no need for words...your actions say it better than any voice ever could."

She has to admit he has a point, and enough of one that she can't bring herself to look up at him and pout like she quite wants to. "...Still--"

"How like you to be so persistent." But his tone is one of amusement, and the words hold no sting. "Very well, then. Just _once_ \- and then we sleep. You have exhausted me so thoroughly it is a wonder my eyes are even open."

"That was the idea." She nuzzles gently at his shoulder, enjoying his shiver, then raises her head at last, looking him in the eye with a faint smile. "You are correct - I have not the words to say it properly. But I love you, more than anything."

He offers her a shy smile in response, the smallest hint of redness creeping into his cheeks, and brings a hand up to briefly stroke her cheek, brushing his lips across hers in a featherlight touch. "And come the dawn, you will show me what your words cannot."

"I will certainly _try_ ," she puts on her most lofty tone, and she is pleased when he snorts out an undignified laugh and reddens still more at his own reaction. "Now I suppose I must satisfy you in an entirely different way - and let you sleep."

"How magnanimous of you," he murmurs dryly, his eyes closing even as he says the words; perhaps unsurprisingly, he is asleep nearly as soon as he finishes speaking.

She laughs, closes her own eyes, and lets the pleasant darkness of slumber claim her as well.


	5. Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This new power was everything they wanted - everything they needed, right to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm. I...am not entirely sure where this came from, but I think it's fair by now to say I've got a fondness for the Heavens' Ward. Especially Zephirin. Goddammit.
> 
> This is probably quite spoilery for HW's later stuff and I'm really sorry for that. It shouldn't make any sense if you haven't got there yet, at least...?
> 
> Supposed to be Zephirin's POV, I suppose.
> 
> (Prompt was originally "pull". Had to replace it. Couldn't do anything with the original. Derp!)

A wave of magic washes over him; he closes his eyes and lets it fill him, pounding in his ears with its insistent, all-consuming pulse.

At first, he really had no idea what to think of this plan, and he knows he was not the only one. Taking what was effectively the power and spirit of an eikon into one's body, harnessing it within them to use at will - such a thing couldn't be _possible_ , and even if it was, wouldn't the presence put entirely too much strain on its new human shell? One couldn't blame them for being leery, for not wishing to offer themselves up as possible sacrifices if something were to go wrong with the procedure. Yet at the same time...

At the same time, _how_ could they say no?

But now, as his entire being is wrapped in brilliant warmth that briefly shuts out the world, he feels no regret, and he knows the others feel the same as they too give themselves over to this product of their devotion. It is overwhelming, perhaps even painful in its intensity, and he has heard a few of them liken it to the sensation of something _dying_ within them - he cannot disagree, but that thought rings incomplete to him, with only one possible ending: their frail mortal selves die, and they are reborn. The power takes them, _transforms_ them, and they become an existence that is both not quite and yet entirely their own - transcended, they are as the phoenix, rising anew from their own ashes.

This, he thinks, is what it means to truly believe. To give themselves body and soul to the man they follow, to help him bring back their sullied world and cleanse it of the ruin it has become.

They cannot lose. They will not lose. Even if they must once more burn themselves to ash, turn their ephemeral lives into the flame that will consume their enemy.

And even as the magic finally devours him, and he can feel everything fading into an abyss of senseless dark, he still believes--

They did everything right. Everything.

In his last moments, he looks to his leader, and he smiles.

The wave that flows over him now is one of peaceful, eternal bliss.


End file.
